A Rule For Winter
by solitariusvirtus
Summary: Jon Baratheon is made a lord at the beginning of me whisper that it is his lady mother that has pushed for this.While others remain firm in their belief that every keep needs a strong lord to get through the long nights. But little does the realm dream that this winter is unlike any other they have ever known. Or, Jon finds that prophecies are just bedtime tales.


_A/N: NOTA BENE: This is a spin-off of my story "The River Runs Cold". There are certain elements that will find repetitions in this story that have already been explained in the other piece._

 _Unlike the mother-story, this one centers around Jon and his dealing with the White Walkers, the Long Night and kingship._

 _To those of you coming from "T.R.R.C.", this is not an actual incursion on what I have planned for that story. That one is going a different way._

* * *

Princess Daenerys laughed lightly. "I do not believe that was what my brother spoke of when he said that." She was amused nonetheless so Jon took little issue with the fact that the main aspect escaped her. "But I do not wish to talk of politics. I want to know how you've accommodated into your new home, my lord.'

"Quite well," Jon allowed, putting his hands about her middle and raising her slightly off the ground. It seemed to be a point of interest to everyone lately. Alas, it was quite an interesting turn of events and those around him could not be blamed for their curiosity. "One grows used to the ghastly spectres after a few nights."

"I expect you shall bring back exciting story or another of these house guests that never quite leave." And of course everyone was expecting that the sky would fall down on him at any moment. Jon merely rolled his eyes at the request. "Come now. The Red Keep has no ghosts."

Not for her at any rate, thought Jon. For others it was quite different. Still, one could not retain a less than pleased mien when Daenerys Targaryen smiled. Jon gave in to his first impulse and grinned back at her. "What do you think of Aegon's bride? Shall they get along, do you believe?"

He spied the woman in question from the corner of his eye. Margaery Tyrell sat next to his brother. Aegon leaned in to whisper something in her ear and she laughed quietly, her eyes crinkling just so. They truly looked well-matched.

"I believe I've not seen Aegon so in love since that time when Lady Sansa played the harpsichord for us in Winterfell," the Princess answered. "I did believe he would ask my brother to allow a match between them."

Time has worked to cool the ardour, however. Jon nodded down at his aunt. "As did I for a time." It was mayhap for the better that Aegon had not. It would truly be a pity to have history repeating itself.

The last strum reverberated through the air, the melody dying upon a high note. All couples broke apart. Jon led Daenerys to her seat and accepted her invitation to join her. The Princess leaned back in her chair, smiled down at a young lord that Jon believed to be of the Riverlands and took a sip of her watered wine. "You ought to have written. You cannot know how dreadfully lonely it is with Rhaenys in Dorne, Viserys somewhere in Essos and Aegon settled at Dragonstone. And now I shall barely have even you. "

"Flattered as I am to the fourth in your list if favoured companions, dear aunt, I do not believe His Majesty should be very well pleased were I to give up my lordship and cling to your skirts." Nor would his lady mother for that matter. Jon received with grace the light slap Daenerys delivered to his shoulder.

"You still call him that after all these years? Jon, you were little more than a babe when he wedded your mother. And speaking of my good-sister, I think she is coming towards us right now." Daenerys nodded to somewhere ahead.

Glancing away from her Jon noted that indeed mother was coming towards them. He stood from his seat, unknowing if she wished to walk with him or just speak. Lyanna climbed the three steps despite her injured leg.

"My son," she said, smiling warmly at him. "I see you are neglecting your duty." At that remark he flushed.

"The fault lies with me, aunt," Daenerys proceeded to explain. "I was quite appalled with him that he'd not written and wished to make it known to him. I fear I have indeed kept him from his duties."

"At least I now know I am not alone in my complaints," Lyanna breathed out as if relieved.

"I find it entirely unsporting that you should attack an unarmed man," Jon countered, leaving Daenerys' side for his mothers'. How truly easy it was to pretend that all was well between them; between him, his mother and the King. Jon wondered where he had gone. "Lady mother, mayhap you should like to sit down for a while. Rest yourself."

"Nay. I am well rested. What I should like is some air. It is very hot in here." Something in the way her voice cracked slightly put him on edge, but Jon was having great difficulties summoning his willingness to join her. Alas, he could not refuse; not without rising suspicions.

"Then allow me to accompany you. Unless, dear aunt, you would join us to." For a moment he thought it might work, as Daenerys had half-raised from her seat. But the Princess seated herself back down just as fast.

"Nay. I have taken up quite enough of your time." She smiled at them and then turned her attention towards the same lord she had gazed upon earlier.

"It is quite clear that she is much charmed with him," his mother offered softly. "One can see it in the way she smiles at him. Expectantly, as if one word from him would make her the happiest." It occurred to him that the Queen was speaking as much of the Princess as she was speaking of herself. Jon merely nodded his head and led her away, checking his pace to match her slower one. "I believe that before long the Red Keep shall be seeing another wedding."

They had reached the hallway when Jon paused, looked down to his mother and detached her hand from his arm gently. "Is that why you wished me to join you. To speak of my aunt?" His angry gaze produced a wave of understanding from her.

Lyanna looked back at him with a sorrowful expression. "Jon," she said, shoulders dropping slightly, "I have explained. I know not what else you would have of me."

And she had. Truly she had. But he could not accept it. It was as simple as that. Jon had not loved his father. Or rather the man he had always though was his father. He barely even remembered the face of Robert Baratheon. People said that Renly was his very image. But how was Jon to know? All that he knew had shattered violently and broken into a thousand pieces.

And he felt like everything about him was a lie.

"I want to be able to look at you, lady mother, and not feel anger. I want to be able to look at your husband and not feel cheated." He turned his face away from her, drawing in a large gulp of air. "I do not want to go through my life with the knowledge that for one father even considered a possibility and for the other I was never good enough."

Her breath hitched. Jon felt her hands on his arm, squeezing pleadingly. "That is not so. It is not so. You know it is not so. I pray you, Jon, think of what you are saying. Your father loves you."

"My father," he repeated. "And of whom do you speak when you say that?" Of course he knew quite well that she spoke of the King. "My father told me the day he died that I was a disappointment. He might have loved me, but it did not seem to matter very much."

"If you wish to direct your anger at someone, then I am the one you should direct it towards. Jon, Robert never knew any better. Neither did." Although the man she called his father did find out later.

That did not make it any less painful. Not for him. It only made matters worse. "Was there ever a moment you were not lying, mother?"

If only she had told him sooner. If only she had told him at a time when he would not have understood the grave implications of her actions. Jon might have been able to forgive, to put it at the back of his mind. It might not have mattered. She hadn't.

"I did what I thought best. And you cannot judge me for that. I gave you life and I took care of you. Does that mean nothing?" Her questions slammed against him like a punch to the head.

Incensed, Jon retorted, "Aye, you gave me a life that isn't even mine. You do not have to live with that. You have moved on and I am still Jon Baratheon." He was still very much labouring under the burden of a name that did not belong to him. And all because of her.

"I will not apologise for what I did," came the obstinate answer. "I am truly aggrieved that you would think less of me for trying to protect my child, you. But I will not apologise for doing what I did. And if the sin is so great, then the gods shall see it that justice is done."

But Jon had not meant to argue with his lady mother. "I am come to ask who else known if this," he said at a long last. Just when he thought she would turns away and leave him out in the hallway, his mother took his arm once more and they began walking. "Your father and your Uncle Benjen. They are the only people I have ever told."

"He is my King and my teacher in many a great many matters, but he is not my father." His protest was met with a cool look from the slight woman on his arm. "Mother, do not ask me to call him father. I cannot."

She seemed to accept his reluctance after a time. Jon could not help but be aware of the soft sniffling sound Lyanna made. He schooled his features into a mask of neutrality and forced himself to not look at her. He'd never quite managed to wave entirely away that peculiar ache which came over him whenever his mother wept.

They made their way about in silence until they had reached the entrance to the garden. Stepping outside into the seemingly vast space, Jon could not help but remember the garden at Storm's End. He remembered it had looked so much like the one before him, bathed in the silvery light of the moon. There were times when he missed his childhood home.

And then, inevitably, he remembered that he had no claim upon it. The thought was sobering. But not entirely crushing. In some way he was relieved that the man he thought of as his father never named him his successor. It lifted the burden of guilt from his shoulders, as much as it could be lifted. And he dared hope that his uncle would have a great number of sons to follow him in the leading seat of House Baratheon.

As for himself, Jon knew not very well what his plans were. It was true that he'd been given a keep of his own and he was quite pleased with that, however, certain duties had been laid upon his shoulders as well.

"Why have you returned?" came the unexpected question. The confusion must have been apparent for his lady mother spoke once more. "There is no wish of a reconciliation to my mind. Why is it that you have come back?"

"I do not know myself." He answered. Instead he ought to have said that he did wish to put the past behind them, but something stopped him. A voice in the back of his head, whispering that he was to make no compromise. "I was hoping that being here would reveal to me an answer."

Answers were the most seldom to be found. At all corners Jon found questions and more questions, secrets and the like that lead to puzzlement. He rarely ever found answers though.

And then it hit him why he'd come.

"I think I just wanted to see you again." To gain some sense of closure.


End file.
